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Two weeks since we last spoke. Five months since I last saw her in person the day before I left for Dorvan. Six days since I last saw anything. My mind can easily recall the flare of the explosion, the lancing pain through my head, and then nothing but blinding white. The doctors did the best they could with their limited medical equipment before wrapping my eyes and declaring that my own body would hopefully complete the healing. They couldn’t dare to remove the bandages for two weeks, and I have eight days left to go. I should have known.
I was sedated the day I was supposed to contact her. Two days later, when I was allowed to wake up, the headache was all I could think of. Another day, and I couldn’t face her, couldn’t tell her that I was less than the man she knew. Useless, damaged perhaps beyond repair. Helpless. But I should have known.
The voice like the burn of a fine brandy, the sting and warmth and slow slide that leaves the hearer craving more; I would prefer a bottle of brandy to answering her. For six days, I’ve heard only my sister, my nephews, and the doctors, voices that blurred together and skated the surface of the darkness but never penetrated. Until one word-sip of the fine brandy burned through: Chakotay.
How?
B’Elanna.
I should have known. A dip in the mattress beside me, smell of coffee and roses and sunlight. She always smelled like sunlight to me, though I could never say how. Ridiculous, I know. Wavelength, energy, speed, yes. Odor, no, though it is there just the same in her.
How am I? Blind, Kathryn, that’s how I am. Words sharper than I wanted them to be. Knee-jerk reaction. I wasn’t prepared for her. Somebody should have warned me she was here. I should have known.
Eight days. No, there is no guarantee. Eight days until I see again or until I am condemned for the rest of my life. Nothing you can do. You shouldn’t have come. No, I didn’t mean that. You should have let me know you were coming. I could have been more prepared.
My fingers scratch through the rough beard growth on my chin and jaw. I had needed a haircut before the explosion. What did my nephew pick out for me today? I forgot to ask what color shirt I’m wearing, or even if it matches the soft pants. Maybe the sheet over my legs will hide any clash. Brown. I should tell them just to dress me in brown every day. Then I would know.
Oh, yes, the accident. How much did B’Elanna tell you? Installing a new power supply for the school. Overload. Delayed to make sure everyone evacuated to a safe distance. Optical nerves seared. Facial burns regenerated. Two weeks. Maybe, maybe not. Or some shit.
I didn’t mean to jump when she touched my arm. It’s her way. I don’t want pity. Does she pity me? Gods, I can’t take pity from her. Water, please. The glass is pressed into my hand. I manage to find my mouth and not feel a trickle down my chin. That’s something, at least. Hold the glass out until it disappears from my fingers and hear the clink on the bedside table. Let my hand drop and feel hers underneath it. An entire bed, and I managed to find my way in utter blackness to her small, delicate hand. She doesn’t move it, so neither do I.
I’m glad you’re here. I missed talking to you. Sedated, headache, bandages, no time to contact you. What about your work? I find it hard to believe you took a month of leave. Happy to grant all the time you want, huh? HQ is still riding high on the fame of their newest admiral. Dame of the Delta Quadrant? I laugh at that. I wish I had thought of it. No, never to your face, I’m sure. Another chuckle. When was the last time I laughed?
Yes, the replicator makes coffee. I built this shelter my first month here. Too crowded in the house. One large room, small replicator, table with one chair, bed, plus bathroom. No bathtub. Don’t tell her that nothing says alone like a table with one chair. Except the darkness. There is that. Useless, helpless, less.
I was doing some good. I repaired the water filtration system, helped to improve the soil yields with some of the tricks from the aeroponics bay, reviewed the power infrastructure, and developed a plan for more efficient use of the energy. The new supply at the school was supposed to help. An aged coupling failed, and no way to stop it.
The smell of sunlight and fresh coffee on my other side, now. From the change in the mattress, she’s sitting against the headboard, her legs stretched out in front of her. There’s no point in turning at the sound of her voice, but I do anyway. Is she revolted by the bandages? No, not revolted. She wouldn’t be. Even knowing I can’t see her, she would keep her expression neutral so that no one except I, and maybe Tuvok, had any inkling of what she was thinking. I wish I could read her now. What does she think of less-than-Chakotay?
My sister and my nephew entering. A second chair for the table. A plate for Kathryn, a bowl for me. My sister has taken to making one-dish meals for me so I’m not chasing food I can’t see around a plate. Fortified with nutrients the doctors hope will give my body the best chance to repair itself. Hope being the operative word. I wish Doc was here. The doctors here won’t let me travel to him. Too risky, too much stress. Sedate me, put me in stasis, anything. If a safe way can be found. That was five days ago.
My nephew’s hand under my arm to lead me to the table. I’m beginning to learn the way, but still misjudge sometimes. The extra chair, where did they place the extra chair? My hand is led to the back of it. I would have kicked it without the help. She knows that, has to have seen that. Sit down and grope for the spoon, holding the edge of the bowl with the other hand. The first few meals had been disastrous. At least I’ve had time to get used to feeding myself. Mostly. I have to eat and hope the boost of nutrients helps. It would be rude to ask her to eat in the house because I don’t want her to watch me.
You’re staying here? No. It’s not right. You don’t have to take care of me. I know Sekaya and the boys have to return to work and school. Another villager, a neighbor, anybody. Damn it, Kathryn, why? You are not responsible for me. I know we’re friends. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry I upset you. Of course you can stay.
The air is getting cooler. What time? 1800 hours. You know, I’ve lost all track of time. I have to ask what day it is, what time of day. I can judge a bit by the meals brought to me, when they help me to the shower, when they lay out my clothes and comb my hair. The headache comes and goes. Sekaya will show you where the hypospray is. You have more important things to do. Are you sure I can’t talk you out of this? I have to smile. Heavens know I wouldn’t try to out-stubborn you, Admiral. The brandy slide of her laughter in the darkness.
My foot kicks hers under the table. I’m sorry, I can’t see how close I am to you. She puts my hand on her shoulder, letting me feel the distance by the length of my arm. Funny, no one has done that before now. I’ve had to judge by noises of movement or voices. The touch makes it easier. Thank you.
Someone returns for the dishes. No, I’m full. Thank your mother for me. And tell her to give you the cot to bring in here, with extra blankets and pillows. Your brother can help you carry it. Yes, Admiral Janeway is staying so you can return to school tomorrow. I’m glad you like school. I know you’ll be happy to see your friends again. She said it’s okay, so you can call her Kathryn. Yes, she came all the way from Starfleet Headquarters on Earth. She is a good friend, isn’t she? Carry the dishes to the house, and don’t forget the cot.
I can hear the smile in her voice. They are good boys. Sekaya has done a fine job with them. They were so little when I last saw them before Voyager. I’m still surprised by how much they’ve grown. They’ve been a lot of help since the accident.
She tells me about her family, her mother and sister and nephews. She visited briefly, but was eager to return to work. I know that she dealt with the shock of being back in the Alpha Quadrant by staying on duty as much as possible. She’s one of those people who would work right through the end of the universe. It’s her way of coping. It’s also why I don’t believe the month of leave. I’m willing to bet she hasn’t taken that much time off since she entered the Academy. Maybe when her father died. I almost forgot about that. But, to take a month for me? Rather, less-than-me. If she wasn’t here, I wouldn’t believe it.
I stand up from my chair and try to remember the number of steps to the end of the bed. If I can find it, I can make my way around to the back wall and the bathroom. No, it’s okay. I can find my way. As long as nobody puts anything new in my path, I’m getting used to it. I’m actually glad I’m in this room. It would be much harder in the house. More to the left? There it is, thank you. I know that once I reach the end of the bed, it’s seven steps to the back wall, then three to the door of the bathroom.
When I come back out, she tells me she’s standing by the outside door. Something else no one has bothered to do – let me know when they’ve moved from where I last knew them to be. It’s comforting that on the map in my head of this shelter I built, I can place her and see her. She instinctively knows this, knowing how similar we are in our need to immediately recognize and assess whatever environment we’re in. It’s hardwired into both of us and honed by the experiences in the Delta Quadrant. No one else, not even the doctors, has been sensitive to this need.
Is it dark outside yet? Good. The doctors don’t want me outside in the sunlight. They don’t want to take any chance that the harsh light could find a way through the bands around my eyes. Waterproof, sealed to my skin, almost indestructible, but still there is a tiny chance. I try to sit outside after dark. Would you like to join me? When my nephew comes with the cot, I’ll get him to help me outside. Right. I guess I have to get used to this. Let me hold onto your arm. There’s a chair outside and to the right of the door.
She takes my hand and guides it to the back of her arm, wrapping her fingers over mine. I got used to the feel of her hand on my elbow on occasion on Voyager. To have the roles reversed feels strange. I wonder if she thinks so, too. She tells me we’re at the door, then stops and warns me of the step. When we reach the bottom, she leads me to the chair and places my hand on the back of it. I’m able to reach down from there to the seat and position myself to sit down. When I’m settled, she tells me she’ll be right back. She’s going to get another chair from the house.
I listen to her footfalls. She’s not wearing boots, which means she’s not in uniform. I didn’t even notice the feel of the material under my hand. I subconsciously rub my fingers together. No, it was definitely not the feel of a uniform. Suddenly, my mind’s picture of her is blurred. This hasn’t happened before. Why can’t I see her? I realize that with other people, I’ve pictured them either in something I saw them wear before or a sort of generic shirt and pants. What color is she wearing? Is she in a dress? Slacks? How long is her hair? Gods, I can’t see her! My heart is racing, and I take deep breaths. I touch the shirt I’m wearing. No, that’s not the right feel. Pants? That’s not it, either. What is that feeling that lingers on my fingertips? Is it something I’ve seen on her before? The white button-up shirt without a collar? The blue dress? The gray dress? Damn it! Why can’t I see her?
You’re back! No, you didn’t startle me. Okay. Nothing’s wrong. I’m okay. It’s stupid. You really want to know? I realized you aren’t in uniform, and I can’t picture you anymore. No, it hasn’t happened with anyone else. I don’t know why. A dress your sister gave you for a coming home gift? You look good in mint green. Narrow cuffs just above the elbows. High V-neck, buttons down the front, skirt just below the knees. You look nice. How long is your hair? She picks up my hand and lets me feel the ends where they brush the top of her shoulder. She puts my hand at her temple and pulls it through her hair. You’re wearing it loose. I like it that way. Really, no heels? White flats are more practical, especially here. I smile when she says she’s wearing the same pink lipstick. Thank you, Kathryn.
She lets her knee rest against mine so I can tell where she is. I picture her sitting in her green dress, red hair shining in the moonlight, soft pink lips with the barest hint of sheen, white shoes on her narrow feet. My racing heart slows again with the image fixed in my mind, and the night sounds of Dorvan surround us.
All three of them come from the house carrying the cot and extra linens. Sekaya brings the hypospray and tells Kathryn she’ll leave it on the shelf above the replicator. It’s already programmed with the appropriate pain medication and dosage. The searing headache can hit at any time, and I’m helpless when it does. More helpless. I don’t want her to see me that way. I can’t stop it, though. I know it will happen. The pain is less frequent than it was, but far from gone. She’s trying to keep her voice normal as she repeats the instructions from Sekaya. I can hear her concern. I’m relieved I don’t hear pity. Concern is bad enough. She knows I’m less than the man she knew a week ago. I’m damaged.
Hugs from the boys. A kiss on the cheek from my sister. Goodnights spoken to Kathryn and returned. Footsteps fade through the grass.
No, I’m not thirsty. The nights can get cool. Are you warm enough? I didn’t call B’Elanna, my sister did. I know I should have told her to call you. I would have, eventually. Yes, Miral is growing quickly. I sent a dream catcher for her nursery before I left Earth. I haven’t spoken to Harry in a couple of months. How is Tuvok? I’m sure he would never admit to being a proud grandfather.
I attempt to cover a yawn. I don’t sleep well. I try to ignore my fatigue because I know she stays up late. My shoulders droop, and I slide lower in my seat. Her hand on my arm. I can’t deny that I’m tired. She stands and tugs me up, returning my hand to the back of her arm. Step up, cross through the doorway. She tells me the cot is set up along the far wall. I knew it would be since that’s the only space where it will fit.
No, I’m not letting you sleep on the cot, Kathryn. I know you’re smaller than me. No, I don’t know the room layout with the extra piece in it. I will learn it. I smile despite myself. You can be the most frustrating woman, sometimes. Just for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll learn the space so you can take the bed.
She guides me through the narrower walkway to the bathroom. It won’t be a problem to navigate if I get up from the bed. I brush my teeth, another activity that was messy at first. I splash water over my face, once again feeling the stubble. I must look ghastly. I reach for the towel on the rack and feel an extra one already hanging for her. I’m glad my sister thought of it. I finish getting ready for bed and feel my way back to the wall and the three steps to the edge of the mattress.
She tells me she is beside the table, getting her pajamas from her bag. I hear a zipper, the rustle of material, the sound of – a PADD? – being laid on a wooden surface. Zipper again, and a soft-sided bag being set on the floor against the wall. She tells me the case is between the replicator and the table. It shouldn’t be in the way there. Soft steps. A brush of her leg as she passes me to go in the bathroom and change. I still don’t know if I’m happy or profoundly sad that she’s here. The man I was would be ecstatic. This less-than-me is confused. Slide under the covers and fluff the pillow under my head. I’m too tired to decide tonight.
***V*V***
I’m pulled from sleep by a piercing yell. Recognize my own voice a split second before the searing white pain registers. Fine brandy staled by abrupt fear when she calls my name. My palms press into my forehead above useless eyes. Spring up into a sitting position. It doesn’t help. Bend forward. Doesn’t help. Twist sideways. Punch my hand into the headboard. Pain is my existence, punishment to my soul, and strips less-than-me of me. She holds my head to the side, the hiss of the hypospray sounding under my ear. Try not to fight against her, against any added intrusion into my agony.
Gradually, there is more a memory of pain than the stabbing murder of myself. I collapse back onto the pillow, damp hair sticking to my neck, beads of sweat on my forehead, down my chest. The weight of her on the mattress right behind me, her hand on my shoulder. My breathing is ragged. A low groan escapes unbidden. Weight shifts, slight rise of the mattress, water runs. A cool glass is pressed to my hand, but I can’t grasp it yet. Steps retreating and returning. Weight now in front of me on the edge of the bed. Cool cloth presses to my forehead, pausing. The gentle touch of cloth to my cheek, my neck, then back to the skin above my bandages to run over my hair. I rasp a thank you and roll to my back.
The curse from her lips only mirrors my own thoughts. Slide of silk against my arm, skin against the back of my neck. She holds my head up to give me water. Another piece of me breaks. Helpless. She did see it, after all. The drink soothes my throat and drowns my heart.
I’m sorry. I know it’s not my fault, but I’m still sorry. It was worse, but each day gets a little better. The doctors are doing everything they can. I know you want to help. Were you asleep? What were you reading? Ah, the interminable reports. I knew you didn’t really take a month of leave. Smile for her. It’s okay, really. What else are you going to do here besides look after me? Don’t worry. I’m always hot after the headaches. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Alright, but you’ll have to help me. It will be a little while before I can sit up without risking the pain again.
She rolls the sweat-dampened shirt up my back and chest. I raise my arms and gingerly lift my shoulders off the bed. So careful not to disturb the bandages. The skin doesn’t hurt, only the nerves inside. I try to tell her, but she’s no less gentle. Lie back. Cool cloth on my hot forehead, neck, and dull throbbing is beginning to fade. Always exhaustion afterward. I miss the feel of eyelids closing.
Silence. How long? My sleep is so erratic, there’s no way to tell. Slick, cool, panic. Silk? She hasn’t moved, still beside me on the bed. I realize her thigh is what I feel under my hand. Voice of waking.
I didn’t mean to wake you. What time is it? 0500? Day 7. Did you sleep sitting up? You should have gone back to the cot. Or made me go to the cot. So you could rest, that’s why. I know you were worried. I’m okay.
Silk disappears, and the bathroom door closes. I sit up, pleased to feel no headache. Small miracles are the only brightness in the darkness. I’m halfway to the rest of my life. This limbo between seeing and unseeing is a hell in itself. I can’t hope too much for fear of crashing. I can’t despair completely. Stuck somewhere in between waiting to meet me.
No, no pain. I would like some coffee, thank you. I can find the door. Return from the bathroom, realizing while in there I’m not wearing a shirt. My shirts are in the second drawer. Color? Whatever you think. My nephews have been picking out my clothes. I have no idea what pants I’m wearing. Gray? Good, I like the gray ones. Is the sun out yet? Just beginning sunrise. I feel my way down the bed and to the door. No, I’m not going outside. I just want some fresh air before the sun traps me in here for the day. You don’t have to stay. Go out and see the colony. I know, I know. You came to be with me.
She guides me to the chair. I sit, and she lifts my hand to the coffee cup on the table. Scrape of chair on wood floor as she sits in the other seat. She places my hand on her shoulder so I can judge her distance. A soft breeze through the door. Warm coffee over my tongue and contented sigh from her as she drinks. I grin at the familiar sound. More familiar to me than any sound I’ve heard in five months. She shouldn’t be here. I should have known I’d be glad she is.
Schedule? Breakfast whenever it comes. Shower and dress. Listen to books. Tell stories to my nephews, talk to my sister. Rest. I tire easily, especially when the headache comes. Another pointless visit from the doctors. Sometime is lunch and dinner, and snacks if I want. Sit outside after dark. You’ll be bored to death by tomorrow. Shave? And haircut? Kathryn, I don’t expect you to go that far. Chuckle. No, I’m not questioning your skills. I trust you with my life. I’m not so sure about a razor. Ah, the brandy sting of laughter is back. I’ll show you where my things are later. If you screw it up, at least I can’t see it. Ow!
We’re still laughing when Sekaya calls an alert. They let me know when they’re approaching. Hello, a knock, Uncle from the boys. I can hear the surprise in my sister’s voice. My laughter and smile are things she hasn’t seen from me in a week. Breakfast is early because the boys have school. Lunch is prepared and suspended until time for it. It’s no trouble. Have to make lunch for the kids, anyway. Kathryn must have caught my smirk at her assurance she could make lunch. Her foot kicks mine under the table. She has no trouble judging the distance correctly.
The air is warming. Sekaya closes the door on the way out. Trapped for another day. Find the spoon, feel the bowl. Listen to the slide of her fork, a chuck of her cup on the table top. Try not to make a mess. I’m getting better. I wipe my chin with the napkin. Better, not perfect. I reach slowly to find my cup. To the right? Up? Thank you.
She stacks the dishes when we’re finished, putting the cups on the replicator for recycling. Takes my arm to lead me to the bed. I’m supposed to learn the lay of the cot in the room, the narrower space. I’ll be fine until she returns from the house. Reach for the water always kept on the nightstand. Too fast! The clink of the glass and splash of water on the floor. Damn! I stand up and carefully place my feet. Don’t slip. Bathroom, towel, feel for the wall. Kneel and feel for the spill. Start wiping.
I feel my cheeks flush when she returns and sees me on the floor. I spilled some water. No, I can do it. Yes, I’m sure. Keep wiping, feel for the splash. Sekaya insists on doing this when I spill something. I’ve tried to tell her there’s no reason I can’t do it. Hear her at the replicator. Smell fresh coffee and sunlight. Feel again. I think I got it. The table? Feel the top, find the spot, blot it up. Carry the towel back to the bathroom. Spread it over the rack. Sekaya will get it and my clothes later. Our clothes, rather. I have to get used to her being here. She let me clean up the mess. No one else has done that. It’s another small miracle, or a confirmation of less-than-me that it makes me feel good. I’m not sure which.
I’m surprised at how quickly we become completely comfortable with each other in the small space of this shelter I built. We sit on the bed, recline against the headboard, and revisit memories of our time on Voyager. She reads to me, the fine brandy voice lighting the darkness. When her voice tires we listen to books together. She works on reports when I nap. My sister and the boys visit when they return from work and school. My nephews love Kathryn and crawl onto the bed with us to tell us about their day. I tell them stories and legends of our people.
When the soul-shattering headaches hit, she’s there with the hypospray and a cool cloth. She holds me until I sleep again. Always there when I wake up again. I like waking up to the smell of sunlight. On the ninth day of my two-week wait, the cot is folded and leaned in the corner. We share the bed, and it feels as right as my own heartbeat. Perhaps less-than-me is a little more.
I thought so, anyway, until I slip and fall in the shower on the eleventh morning. Tip my head back too far. Darkness overbalances. Misjudge grabbing for the shelf. Head hits the wall as body slides to the floor. She’s here in an instant. She turns off the water and wraps a towel over me where I’m crumpled. Searing pain through my head, and a growl echoing in the shower stall. She runs for the hypospray, presses it to my damp neck. The blow to my head makes this a particularly bad one. Damaged, useless, helpless, I writhe on the wet floor as the essence of my existence is ripped from my body.
Degree by degree, the agony is pushed away by the meds. I’m left gripping my throbbing forehead, utter blackness impossibly swirling. Weak. I’m pulled to her, my head guided to her lap. She’s soaked sitting on the shower floor. Soft hands brush over my hair and soothe my temples. Somehow, the towel remains draped over my exposure. Small miracles.
My body finally uncurls, my muscles left trembling. She helps me sit against the wall and soon, I feel another towel drying me. I want to protest. Declare I’m not helpless. I am. I should have known. I retreat further into the darkness, resigning myself to being forced to be her less-than-Chakotay. My arm is picked up and wrapped over her shoulders. With her strength, I’m able to push myself to my feet and walk the few steps to the bed. The squeak of a drawer. Soft pants slip over my feet. Stand long enough to help pull them up before collapsing onto the bed. I hear the sounds of her wet clothing being removed, the slide of dry cloth. The weight of her beside me on the bed. I turn my aching head to her. I’m sorry. Yes, sleep. Her fingertips draw the throb from my soul as I descend into black.
Slowly wake. Senses return, except one, of course. It’s still strange to wake up to darkness. Coffee and roses and sunlight ground me. I feel softness and realize my cheek is on her hip, my arm draped over her legs, her arm wrapped behind me. How long? Five hours is the longest I’ve slept in a while. A small headache, but not bad. Reports again, huh? Tea, I think.
I sit up slowly, waiting to see if the pain is going to get worse. It doesn’t. I feel her positioning the pillow behind my back. Movement on the bed, the order from the replicator. A warm cup presses into my palm. She sits on the edge of the bed facing me, her small hand combing through my hair. I’m okay. I’m sorry. I know that’s what you’re here for. You shouldn’t have to be. No, I’m not hungry yet. Maybe after the tea. The brandy slide catches. What’s wrong? I didn’t mean to scare you.
I feel for the bedside table and set the cup down. My hand reaches out toward her, and she presses it to her cheek. I can judge where she is by the touch. My other hand easily finds her shoulder and pulls her to me. Head lies on my chest. Arms wrap around my waist. I softly caress her hair, picturing shining auburn strands. I’ve been too trapped in my darkness to think that she might need comfort, too. I realize it isn’t easy for her to see less-than-me. I should have known. Aching head eases as I surface from the black. She needs me.
The evening of day thirteen. I’m anxious tonight because tomorrow will bring the doctors and the removal of the bandages. Dinner is over. The sun has finally set. Yes, I would like to go outside now. Her arm in my hand as we descend the step to the chairs. Her knee against mine. Yes, I am nervous. Yes, we will face it together. I couldn’t have gotten through the last week without you. Her small hand rests on my leg, and I wrap mine over it. I’m not sure how long we sit because I can’t see time in my darkness. The night sounds of Dorvan and her touch soothe me.
My fatigue catches up to me, and we return inside. Our routine has become just that in the few short days she’s been here. Me first. Brush my teeth, pull on the pajamas she picked out, wash my face. Feel my way to the bed. She makes sure I’m comfortable before taking her turn in the bathroom. Her weight settles beside me. I turn on my side away from her. I fall asleep to the smell of sunshine, and her slight movements as she reads. When I awake in what I must assume is the middle of the night, our backs are pressed together in the center of the bed. This night, I awake in pain. Not searing, not soul rending, but still a headache. I reach behind me and tap her hip. She immediately answers, and I have to wonder how much rest she has really been getting.
I’m sorry to wake you. My head is hurting. No, not severe, but still pain. I don’t want to sit up for fear of making it worse. Her weight lifts, and my back cools where she had been. Footsteps on the other side of me. She sits in front of me and presses the hypospray to my neck. She feels my forehead. Warm, but not as hot as usual. Maybe this is a good sign. Worry is still evident in her voice. I take deep, regular breaths, hoping against hope that we have beat this one. The beginning throbbing eases again. I slide my arm over the bed until I feel her back clad in silk and let it rest against her. Thank you. No, I’m not thirsty. Her delicate fingers smooth my hair and my temples. I think I’m okay.
She lies down in front of me and curls her body into the curves of mine. I slip one arm under her neck and the other over her ribs. Too heavy? Good. I picture the auburn tresses lying just in front of me on my pillow. I press a kiss to her soft hair, and we drift off again.
My sleep is ended by a knock and the door opening. Sekaya halts her entry with a quiet apology. No, it’s okay. What time is it? 0700? The boys are off to school, but my sister will stay until the doctors come at 9. I run my hand over Kathryn’s hair. She stirs in my arms. I’m fine. Breakfast is here. We slept late this morning. Her apology is met by one from my sister. Warmth and smell of sunlight leave me. Rustle of her robe. I like the white one. I hear dishes being set on the table. I sit up against the headboard and rub my face. The sound of the bathroom door closing, then Sekaya’s voice as she sits beside me. She asks about the hypospray on the nightstand. Headache, but not a bad one. Maybe they are getting better. No, Sekaya, not until I know if I’ll see again. Because I’m less than the man she’s known for almost eight years. I cannot tell her I love her until I know who I am going to be. Maybe she does, but maybe I’m not worthy of her love.
The bathroom door opening ends the painful conversation with my sister. I feel Sekaya’s kiss on my cheek and hear the shelter door closing. I take my turn in the bathroom. Feel my way to the table. Let her place my hand on the coffee cup. I find the bowl and spoon easier than I used to. I scratch my chin at her words. Yes, I do need a shave. You can do it before I shower. 0900 is when Sekaya said they’ll be here. I know. No matter what happens, we face it together. I put down my spoon and drop my head in my hands. Can’t cry with eyes banded and sealed. In the darkness, I see my soul weeping for me. I should have known. If hope rises too high, despair only pulls the harder. Slide of her chair. Hands on my shoulders. I cling to her arms around my neck and concentrate on brandy whispers burning with light.
***V*V***
0900 hours. I’m sitting on the bed propped against the headboard. Freshly shaved and showered, I can only wait. She sits beside me, just finished dressing, hair still damp. Our hands are clasped nervously between us. A knock and Sekaya enters with the doctors. There are three of them instead of two today. The ophthalmologist and neurologist we already know. The third is introduced as a visiting neurotrauma specialist who agreed to consult on my case.
I hear someone order the lights dimmed to fifteen percent. I squeeze Kathryn’s hand as the consultant tells me he’s taking more readings, asks about the headaches, is pleased to hear the last one was not as severe. I’m warned to keep my eyes closed until the bands have been removed and the skin around my eyes and on my eyelids checked. Any irritations or abrasions will be healed before I’m instructed to open. I can feel the bandage seals loosening. Cut and gently peeling away. The beep of a tricorder, and the skin is healthy. Then comes the command to open my eyes. Kathryn rubs her thumb over mine.
I find I have to struggle to open eyelids that have been closed for so long. There’s some dryness, a slight scratch, but not bad. I blink a few times and barest light penetrates the darkness. I slowly turn my head trying to find shape or shadow. A faint impression of the covered window. Something tall that might be a person. Maybe the shadow of the corner of the room? I finally turn to where I know Kathryn is sitting. I blink several times again. Through the darkness rises an outline, then palest colors, and I concentrate. My eyes begin to focus and the jawline, the shape of the hair, the slope of the graceful neck that is so familiar to me begins to appear. She must see my recognition. That bright smile I’ve missed so much lights her face. I smile back at her. Hi, beautiful. The fine brandy voice is watered with tears. Yes, I can see you. Not clearly, but I can see. She raises my hand to her lips and kisses my fingers.
The doctors gather closer and begin asking what shapes, what colors, how far, how close. No, no pain. For almost an hour they test and retest, question, study, and give instructions for further care. I’m getting tired and tell them my head is starting to hurt. I’m given special glasses programmed to let in only a specific amount of light. Today they are set very low, but each day the level can be increased slightly. Limit my time in direct sunlight even with the glasses for the next few days. Another hypospray to ease the building headache. I thank each one of them. A kiss on the cheek from Sekaya, and I’m alone with Kathryn again.
I’m exhausted but happy. I feel her hand leave mine and her weight lift. I’m able to somewhat track her movement to my side of the bed. She hands me the glass of water. Thank you. I feel okay. The hypospray is helping. Yes, I am tired. Relieved, but tired. She pulls the sheet down and fluffs my pillow. I slide down under the cover. Feel her and almost see her sit in front of me. Fingertips on my temple, and I turn my head to look up at her. The last thing I see before letting sleep claim me is her smile.
Startling to feel my eyelids open when I wake. The dimmest light and vague shadows are disorienting. Kathryn? Where are you? She touches my arm. She’s behind me. I turn over slowly, waiting for sensation of pain, no pain in my head. No pain. Yes, I’m alright. How long? Two hours she tells me. I can vaguely make out colors of her clothing. I touch her shirt on her side. Blue? I touch her pants on her thigh. Black? She holds over the book she is reading, the cover toward me. Yellow, no, tan. Tan? Yes. She puts down the book and tells me not to strain. Let things come into focus naturally. I glance around at what I can see from my prone position. The glasses will prevent me seeing very clearly because of the low light allowed. I can make out the door, the table, the outline of the folded cot still in the other corner.
My eyelids feel heavy. No, I’m okay, they don’t hurt. Just heavy. I sit up and feel/see my way to the bathroom. When I return, she tells me she’s at the table with coffee for us. I make out her shape as I walk to the other chair and sit down. I can see the cup but can’t judge the distance. I reach slowly. I find it without her help and raise it to my lips. Thank you. I turn my head to her. Too fast for eyes to follow. Equilibrium is thrown off. I sway in the chair. She grabs my shoulders and holds me steady. I’m sorry. Dizzy. I wasn’t expecting that. Give me a minute. Nauseated, I close my eyes and fight to not vomit the coffee. She sees my struggle. Need to lie down.
She lifts under my arm as I push with my legs and make the few steps to the bed. I fall across it. Eyes close. She’s here in an instant with cool cloth, wipes the fine sheen of sweat from my brow. Deep breaths, stay perfectly still. In a few minutes, the spell passes. I crawl up to the pillow. I’m not ready to open my eyes again. I hear soft footsteps as she returns the cloth to the bathroom. A knock on the door and Sekaya enters with lunch. The smell of food overwhelms me. Take it out! Please! She retreats. Kathryn’s voice outside the door explains what happened. Apologizes. She’ll get the plates later when I can eat.
The smell of sunlight returns to my side. Yes, I can breathe in that smell. Calming. No, I can’t sleep. Just need to rest. She settles beside me against the headboard. I gently slide my head into her lap, my arm over her legs. Is this okay? Delicate fingers through my hair. No, there’s no pain. She recites poetry, and I’m centered again in her voice. I open my eyes long enough to make out where her arm is resting on the bed. I reach for it and smile when she laces her fingers through mine.
In a while, I’m ready to eat. I sit on the bed while she goes to get the food from the house. Sekaya has given me a plate this time. It’s not as easy as eating from the bowl, but I can see enough. My stomach handles the meal without problem. A knock and Sekaya enters. I’m sorry for before. She tells me it’s okay, she understands. She wants to know how I’m doing, if I’m still seeing what I could this morning. The specialist contacted her. If my exam tomorrow goes well, travel would be possible in a couple of days. Only if a starship can be found. He highly recommends against a shuttle. I remind her with a smile that if anyone can find a starship anywhere in the vicinity, it’s Kathryn. Sekaya laughs. Says she forgets the woman taking care of her brother is the famous Admiral Janeway. She gathers the empty plates, kisses me on the cheek, and returns to the house.
When the sun begins to set, I ask Kathryn to take me outside. I want to see what I can of the fading day, even though the glasses will only let in a small bit of the light. I put my hand on her arm, not confident that I can make my way without it. I want to keep walking out into the yard. She leads me passed the house, and we face the lowering sun. She slides her arm from my hand and links her arm through mine. Small miracles. In this moment, we’re not less-than-me and my guide. We’re man and woman. I can’t see much, but it’s the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. When night descends, we sit in the chairs until my eyes and my body grow tired. She leads me inside, and we follow our routine. Sleep takes me while she reads.
She’s still awake when I wake up sometime later. I roll over. Kathryn, you’re not getting enough rest. I know you never sleep much. I’m concerned. I have to chuckle. I’m fine from Kathryn Janeway would be one step from death for some people. Promise? She sets aside the PADD. Slides down the bed to lie facing me. Assures me she’s okay. I feel her hand rest along my jaw. I’ve felt her do it before. Not many times, but before. I want so much to be the man she knew. I can see just enough of her face. I lightly run the backs of my fingers over her cheek. Yes, I want to go back to Earth with you. I want to see Doc. Yes, I would like to stay with you. Only if you want me to. Are you sure? I feel a soft kiss on my forehead. She turns over, and I slip my arm under her head, the other over her ribs. She sleeps in my arms again. I dream of coffee and roses and sunlight.
A knock on the door, but it doesn’t open. Waits for permission. In my sleep, I utter a commander’s response. Come. Sekaya enters with breakfast. I wake enough to realize I’m lying on my back, Kathryn’s arm and leg draped over me. That’s why my sister paused for permission. What time? 0630 hours. Sekaya is off work today. The doctors will be here at 0900 for another exam. Kathryn sits up and says good morning. I feel the silk over her back. Pink? Yes. I study the pale white skin of her shoulders, red-brown sheen of her hair. She slides off the bed. My memory of seven years at her side fills in the parts of her my eyes can’t make out. Sekaya quietly closes the door behind her.
I sit up, rub my forehead. Yes, some pain. No, I don’t need the medication. I’m sure. Yes, I’ll tell you if it gets worse. I see pink pass by to the bathroom. Gown? Pajamas? I’m not sure. She’s at my side again. Ah, hem of a gown against pale calves. Light filters through the window and I feel a twinge when I look at it. I’m not accustomed to sunlight. I shield my eyes over the glasses. Yes, the light hurts a little. No, don’t cover it. I’ll get used to it. I’m not hungry yet. Did you sleep well? Good.
I get out of bed slowly and enter the shadow of the bathroom doorway. Normal routine. I brush my teeth, splash water over my face. Dry with the towel. I turn too quickly. Swirling. Can’t focus. I fall to my hands and knees as the pain in my head doubles. Kathryn. The bathroom door opens immediately. Her arms wrap around my chest and back. Dizzy. Headache. She’s back with the hypospray in a few seconds. I fall onto my side, my head cradled in her lap. I’m sorry. Brandy whispers of comfort telling me to close my eyes, it’s okay, she’s here. The pain begins to recede, but I keep my eyes closed. The darkness is easier. I should have known it would reclaim me.
I struggle to stand and feel my way to the bed. I lean against the headboard. She stuffs a pillow behind my back. Reach for her and find her wrist. I need to touch her. She keeps me from descending into black. She tucks into my side and lays her head on my shoulder. Yes, I’m okay now.
Gradually, I open my eyes again. Let them focus on my knees. Follow the lines of my legs to my feet. I turn my head ever so slowly. She feels the movement and looks up at me, instinctively moving back so she’s not too close for me to see. I study her face in the dim light. Strong jaw and chin. Pink lips. Perfect nose. High cheekbones. And then, I see clearly the feature that expresses every part, every nuance, every emotion of her soul. I’ve missed your bright blue eyes. Yes, I can see them well. They sparkle with her smile. Less-than-me is lost in her light. My arm around her shoulders folds her to me, and my lips find hers. Soft, tender, brief. I relinquish my hold, and her hand grips the back of my neck. One word in her voice that leaves me craving. Chakotay. The second kiss sweetly lingers, and then her head is on my chest and her arm around me. I forget in this moment that I’m no longer worthy of her.
She tells me we have an hour before the doctors arrive. She’s concerned about me taking a shower with the dizzy spells. Less-than-me reminds my heart of darkness. I’ll be okay. No, I can’t be sure. A chair in front of the sink? I suppose that would work. She rises from the bed, and I track her outline as she carries a chair from the table into the bathroom so I can sit to wash up. I want to protest, to show her I can do something as simple as take a shower. I remember the blow to my head, though, when I fell. I resign myself to the fact I’m still helpless.
You can shower first. It won’t take me long to clean up. No, you don’t need to get Sekaya to sit with me. I know you’re worried. Damn it, Kathryn, I can sit on a bed without a babysitter! Gods know I can’t do anything else, but I can sit on a bed! I’ve been doing it for two weeks! In the utter silence that follows, my words echo through my mind, and my heart stops.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Come here. Please? I feel her weight on the bed beside me. I concentrate on the dim impression of auburn hair, blue eyes, clenched jaw. Kathryn, I’m just frustrated. I don’t mean to lash out you. Please forgive me. I can barely see her hands folded in her lap. I pick one up and pull her to me. Hold her. I stare at the window until my eyes sting and water. Close my eyes, and realize the tears are not from physical pain. I should have known the pain in my soul would find a way out. She feels the catch in my chest, hugs me tighter. Together, we silently cry through our built up worries and fears and strain.
I gently kiss the top of her head, my mind gripped with fear that she’ll push me away. I have to decide, and soon, if I’m going to be her Chakotay or less-than-me. It’s not fair to her to hold onto both. I put my hand under my T-shirt and wipe her tears from her face. She shields me from the light as she removes the glasses to wipe mine. When the lenses are back in place, she tells me to close my eyes. I do, and feel her soft lips press to mine. There is so much I want to say. No time, though, as the doctors will be here soon.
She has long enough to brush her teeth, smooth her hair, and change out of her gown. I change my shirt, and she runs the comb through my hair. She has just returned the comb to the bathroom shelf when the knock announces the doctors. All three are back, plus Sekaya. I can’t make out my sister’s face well enough from this distance to see if she’s bothered by the uneaten breakfast. I’ll have to apologize later. I start answering the questions from the doctors. Some colors, but hard to distinguish others. Depth perception difficult. Outlines, shadows only for more distant objects. Close up is better. Yes, some pain.
I finally tell them about the dizzy spells. The specialist opens his kit, takes new readings, adjusts the tricorder. More readings, and then he pulls out a small neural monitor. He attaches it above my right temple and explains it will stabilize my equilibrium. As my optic nerves begin transmitting signals more quickly again, the device will become unnecessary. The more I use my eyes, the faster the nerves will adapt. I hear the sigh of relief from Kathryn where she is standing against the wall. I’m told that after tomorrow, I can travel to Earth if appropriate accommodations can be found. They’ll have to approve the travel arrangements.
I don’t so much see as hear her, and have to bite back a chuckle. Her command presence and voice fills the room as she assures them she will find the best Starfleet has in this sector. Gentlemen, meet Admiral Kathryn Janeway, former captain of the U.S.S. Voyager and currently assigned to Starfleet Headquarters. The doctors only knew her name was Kathryn. All three utter swift apologies. Insist that whatever arrangements she makes will be more than sufficient. Even at this distance, I see Sekaya’s wide grin.
Evening again. The light through the window is beginning to fade. Will you walk with me? Watch the sunset? I’m still regretting my outburst this morning. I need time outside, out of this small shelter that has been my prison for over two weeks. It has been her prison, too, as we spent every moment of every day together for the last nine days. Nine days that were wonderful, frightening, revealing, and life-changing. She holds her arm out for me and leads me through the door.
The fading light doesn’t hurt. I can make out color variations in the sky, shapes of trees, the house. Changes in the height of the grass across the yard. I’m not ready to walk without her arm, but hopeful. She walks slowly. The neural device is doing its job and keeps me from getting dizzy with too much stimuli. We walk to the far edge of the yard. Farthest I’ve been since the accident.
Thank you for coming with me, Kathryn. I know we come outside every night. After this morning, I wasn’t sure. Yes, but it still bothers me. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I was never mad at you, only myself and the situation. When I lost my sight, I lost me. It seems like every time I think I can find the man I was again, it’s ripped away from me.
She takes my face in her hands. Yes, I can see you. I know you said it was okay. I’m sorry. Her arms circle my waist. I wrap mine around her, and we stand together watching the sunset. Less-than-me doesn’t want to make a choice. My heart already has. I will be more. For her.
***V*V***
We’re an hour from Earth. Just two days after Kathryn contacted Admiral Paris from Dorvan, the Virginia was in range to transport us aboard. We’ve been staying in quarters larger than the shelter I built. The captain and crew have been very gracious. Dinners and activities were mentioned without officially requesting our presence, leaving me an out if I wasn’t up to it. I spent some time in sickbay visiting with Dr. Toshon when Kathryn wanted to tour the science and stellar cartography labs. It was a compromise. I knew I would tire too quickly if I went with her. She didn’t want to leave me alone in our quarters.
I’ve had a couple of bad headaches, but less intense than they were in the beginning. Walks in the corridors helped me somewhat get used to the new environment. I still can’t judge distances. I have to concentrate to see as a whole face the features of new people I meet. Navigating a new space is nearly impossible without her arm to guide me. Even so, the voice of less-than-me has faded to a whisper. I’m not sure who I am yet, but the darkness continues to retreat in her light.
We’re waiting in our quarters, bags ready, until it’s time to depart. My head lies against the back of the sofa, eyes closed. I need to rest them before I’m bombarded with the sights of San Francisco. For three days, I’ve wanted to ask her. Kept delaying. The approach of Earth, Starfleet Headquarters, her job as an admiral, means I can’t put it off. We’re together day and night. We still share a bed, though we’re not intimate. She sleeps in my arms, we touch when we sit side-by-side, we’ve kissed. No one knows that we’re more to each other than we were two weeks ago. Just as I have yet to define who more of me is, we’ve yet to define this more of us.
I feel for her hand beside mine on the sofa. Kathryn? What are we? I mean, what will we be on Earth, among Starfleet and people we know? Together? Silence. I feel her body shift on the cushion as she turns toward me. Delicate hands on my face. I open my eyes and see her waiting for me to look at her. The fine brandy slide of her answer burns into my soul. I love you, too, Kathryn. I feel her soft lips on mine.
Still, I need to know. What if I don’t get any better? What if I can’t be what you need? No, of course not. I do know you better. I know you don’t consider me less than the man I was. But what if you always have to take care of me? You deserve a companion, not a charge. The commander you knew on Voyager is gone, and I may never be him again. I’m supposed to take care of you, to be whatever you need me to be, to protect you. Instead, I can’t even walk across a room without your help. Her fingertips trace my tattoo, caress my temples. Kathryn, I want so much to give you everything, to be everything for you. I pull her into my arms as I cling to her words: together we are everything.
I hear the door chime and open my eyes again as I loosen my hold around her. We stand up, and I see a brief smile before she slips into rank and calls for entry. Captain Nichae has come himself to lead us to the transporter room. The Doctor will meet us on the surface. Doc insisted. I take Kathryn’s arm and we walk with the captain, an ensign following with our bags. There’s a lot more activity in the corridors as the crew gets ready to depart for shore leave. They stand aside as we approach and pass, but my eyes don’t process fast enough. I get a feeling of impending collision. That I’m about to be jostled or run over. I grip her arm tighter and fight to reign in my panic. I’m able to force myself to focus on what I can see, ignore the rest.
The transporter room is much quieter, and I relax my clenched jaw. She thanks Captain Nichae, compliments him on what a fine ship and crew the Virginia is, and leads me up to the platform. She makes sure I’m steady on the pad before stepping to the one beside me, and the ensign positions our bags. We’re in San Francisco.
We’ve been transported to HQ instead of a public terminal. My eyes slowly focus around me, and I can vaguely see Doc, Tom Paris and B’Elanna, and Admiral Paris. Quicker than I can register movement, B’Elanna has me in a tight hug. I’m okay. I’m glad to be on Earth again. How’s Miral? Hi, Tom.
Doc is already scanning me, checking the neural monitor and glasses and lamenting barbaric medical practices. I’m scheduled for a complete work up with him in the morning, but he wants to make sure the devices are working properly. He says my blood pressure is elevated. I’m not surprised, Doc. Too much activity on the ship. I get overwhelmed. I’m fine, though. I hear Tom tell Kathryn the apartment is ready. I turn to her as she thanks him. I see her look at me, and then see that adorable mischievous grin. She says she’s too old for stairs. She asked Tom and B’Elanna to find a single-level apartment and move her things. I have to laugh. I know she moved for me.
I thank Admiral Paris for finding a ship so quickly. He apologizes again for Starfleet’s decision not to let the Doctor travel to Dorvan. He thinks it’s high time another hearing be called to grant Doc rights as an individual and not property. I hope the admiral is sincere and can push the subject. Not just because Doc might have been able to do something for me sooner. It’s disheartening to know a friend is being mistreated.
Doc has finished his brief exam and grumbling, and Kathryn moves back to my side. I take her arm and tell the Doctor I’ll see him in the morning. Tom picks up our bags, and we follow him to a hover car. He and B’Elanna will take us to the apartment. It’s after sunset, and my sight is confused by all the lights and movement of the city. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. Kathryn must sense my distress, because she takes my hand in hers in the car. I’m okay. I’ll be glad to get somewhere everything doesn’t move so fast. I think I hear B’Elanna turn in the front seat. I wonder if she knows. She would pick up before anyone that things between Kathryn and I are different. Kathryn loves me. The thought strengthens me.
We exit the car in front of a tall building. I try to look up, but the edges blur against the night sky. I see lights from windows, an impression of beige. Beige or gray? Gray. Ah, thank you. The monitor is working, but I still sway when I look up more than three or four levels. Kathryn’s arm closes around my back, hand on my shoulder. I lower my head. Her delicate touch on my cheeks turns my head to her. Yes, concentrate on her face. Blue eyes cobalt in the night. Soft skin, lips. I place my hands over hers. Thank you. I’m okay now. A slight headache. No, it’s not bad. I try to smile for her. I pull her hand to my lips and kiss the palm. Only then do I remember Tom and B’Elanna are watching. Her smile says she remembers, too. She doesn’t care.
We enter the building and the turbolift, and follow Tom to the apartment. I see shadows of doorways, numbers that I don’t try to read, light cells along the hallway. I do make out the numbers of the door Tom opens. 2133. Commit to memory my new home. Rather, our new home. The headache is intensifying by the second, and I’m tired. Kathryn, I think I need the meds. She tells Tom to take the bags to the master bedroom and find the hypospray in the smallest case. I fall onto the bed, close my eyes, and rub my pounding forehead. The weight of her beside me, hand on my side. I hear Tom unzipping the bag. In a few seconds, the hiss and mild sting of the hypospray against my neck. She tells him to bring water and a damp cloth. She’s seen the beads of sweat forming on my brow.
The pain builds behind my eyes even with the medication. I feel the cool cloth gently wipe my brow, my neck. My hand finds her back and wraps around to her hip, holding on against the precipice of darkness. I hear B’Elanna’s voice of concern, Tom asking if he should call for Doc. Slowly, the gripping pain begins to diminish. No, don’t call Doc. It’s getting better. Kathryn’s delicate fingers caress my hair, pulling me back from the cliff. Yes, sleep. The bed is soft. She kisses my forehead, and I feel her hip slide from my arm as I drift off.
Where am I? I sit up, fighting to remember. I hear voices and then recall I’m in the new apartment. I make my way to the shadow of the door and into the den. Kathryn sits on a dark blue couch. Blurs of Tom and B’Elanna sit in blue and brown chairs. I concentrate on Kathryn’s form and walk to her, settling close beside her on the couch. How long? Only 20 minutes. I turn to our guests. I’m glad you guys are still here. It’s better, thank you. The headaches come and go. Too much strain today. Tell me what you’ve been doing. They talk about being new parents, how much their daughter has grown, their work. Subconsciously, I take Kathryn’s hand and hold it resting on my thigh. She feels the sudden twitch when I realize what I’ve done. She squeezes my hand, and I understand it’s okay. My heart soars.
Kathryn offers to fix salads for everyone. Yes, I could eat. Thank you. B’Elanna wants me to rest. No, please stay. I’ve missed seeing you both. Tom follows Kathryn to the kitchen, and B’Elanna moves to the couch. I smile, knowing she’s going to ask. She first wants to know about my sight. I can see you, the colors of the chairs. Things begin to blur past that. The glasses control the amount of light so my optic nerves aren’t overloaded. Two weeks trapped in my shelter on Dorvan. I wasn’t at first, but I’m glad she came. And here’s the question I’ve been waiting for. Yes, I love her. A squeeze on my arm. It feels right, B’Elanna. Dealing with my condition has been hard, and I’m holding out hope that Doc can help me. But, Kathryn and I finally feel right.
Kathryn returns. I stand up and take her arm to be led to the table. The distance is too unclear to risk on my own yet. When we reach it, I see a polished, dark wood table with six comfortably padded high-backed chairs. Kathryn seats me at the end. She’s to my right, and Tom and B’Elanna to my left. I’m still tired, but I enjoy the dinner with friends. I lean back in my chair and listen to their conversation as I study each face. So familiar to me after seven of the toughest, most rewarding years of my life traveling the galaxy with them. In their presence, I feel like I can still be that man. There was one thing missing during those years, but that’s now firmly in my grasp. Her.
We say goodbye to Tom and B’Elanna and promise to contact them after my visit with Doc. When the door closes, I put my arm around Kathryn and kiss the top of her head. Yes, I’m feeling good, but I do need to rest. I think I’ll go to bed and listen to a book for a while. I’ll help you unpack and do what needs to be done tomorrow if you want to read with me. I can tell from her voice it has been a long day for her, too. I follow her to the bedroom, able to do so without holding her arm. The open layout of the apartment and minimal furniture make it easier for me to navigate. I’m sure Tom took that into consideration when he found the place. It’s comforting to go about our normal routine of taking turns in the master bathroom.
I prop against the headboard, pillow cushioning my back, while I wait for her. The shelter that I built on Dorvan was never intended to be my home. It always felt temporary. I can imagine a future here. A bright future, no matter whether my vision remains dim. For even my dim vision sees her as she approaches the bed. The halo of auburn locks, blue eyes, pink sheen of lips, pale skin, white satin gown. Vision of love. She slides under the sheet and tucks against my side, my arm draped behind her neck. We’ve been rereading Dante’s Inferno, one of her favorite novels that she shared with me on Voyager. I hug her tighter as the words sound from the PADD: As little flowers, which the chill of night has bent and huddled, when the white sun strikes, grow straight and open fully on their stems, so did I, too, with my exhausted force.
When I wake, I’m lying on my side with her in my arms. I had thought everything would change. I’m so glad some things remain. The chronometer on the bedside table gradually comes into focus. 0530. This is the morning I finally see Doc. If anyone in the galaxy can help me, it’ll be him. I’ve tried not to hope too high, but I’ve seen what he can accomplish. I try to gently slide my arm from under her head. She wakes immediately. I’m okay. No, no headache. Coffee sounds good. When she rises, I sit on the edge of the bed and concentrate on my surroundings. Finer details are becoming easier as long as they are close.
I hear her come from the bathroom and track her white gown as it disappears through the doorway. I feel lonely. I don’t like that I can’t see at least her outline wherever she goes as I could in the shelter. Then I chuckle to myself at the thought. I’ve sent her off to be assimilated by the Borg. I can handle sending her to the coffee pot. I complete my morning routine without difficulty. I’m pleased I can find my way to the table and the coffee cup waiting for me. Small miracles.
By 0700 hours, we’re dressed and ready to see the Doctor. I hold her arm to be led down the hallway to the turbolift and to the public transporter. It will take me a while to learn my way since I can’t see beyond a few feet. It’s a little disturbing not to know how to get to your own home. In the daylight, I’m not so overwhelmed being outside in the city. The glasses don’t block the thousands of pinpoints visible at night. With the sun on my face and the smell of sunshine at my side, I walk toward hope.
The Doctor is eager to see us this morning. He’s reviewed my file sent from Dorvan, but he wants to retest everything. I sit on a biobed, Kathryn standing beside me, while he gets the equipment ready. I feel Kathryn squeeze my hand before moving away to wait. The lights are dimmed, my glasses and neural monitor removed, and Doc begins a running monologue on the anatomy of human sight as he works. I lose track of time, but at some point he sedates me for surgery.
The first thing I see when I’m brought around is Kathryn’s face. Brighter, clearer. I feel glasses across the bridge of my nose, but not the ones I’ve been wearing. How long? Two hours. No, no pain. She helps me sit up and look around. I can see better. Not well, but better. I can make out objects at a greater distance before they begin to blur. Doc starts firing questions. I see more light. Yes, I can see you clearly. I can see more than a shadow of the door across the room, but it’s blurry. He holds up a PADD and adjusts the size of the text, asking each time what can I read of it. I still have to concentrate to separate letters and words, but at least I can read at the larger sizes. When he puts the PADD down, I turn to Kathryn. I make out individual strands of her hair – red, brown, and gold. I can clearly see the buttons on her beige blouse, the little bow of her top lip, the arch of her eyebrows. I pick up her hand and follow the lines of her thin fingers, tiny wrinkles of the skin around her knuckles, the bone on the side of her small wrist. All the little details of her that my memory was filling in are now visible. Have I ever told you how beautiful you are? A soft smile lights her face.
I hear an ahem from Doc and turn toward him, Kathryn’s hand in mine resting on my leg. A faint dizzy feeling hits me, and I realize the pressure of the monitor on my forehead is gone. He explains that during the surgery, he was able to speed the healing of the optic nerves, which increases the speed at which they relay signals. He will reattach the monitor before I leave to correct for the small dizziness that remains. He wants me back in two days for another surgery. The new glasses will allow more light and can be removed if I’m at home with the lights at no more than fifty percent. I may always have to wear shaded lenses in sunlight, but there’s a possibility I could do without them eventually. I leave Starfleet Medical grasping Kathryn’s hand instead of her arm.
***V*V***
I wake up lying on my back, Kathryn’s arm draped over my chest. I listen to her breathing, feel the slight rise and fall of her shoulder. I’ve had no headaches for a week. I can tell that she rests more easily, more deeply now. And so do I. Without the bone crushing pain repeatedly punishing and exhausting my body, my fatigue is greatly improved. I’m returning to a normal sleep pattern. We keep the window shields set to eighty-five percent and the lighting low so that I don’t have to wear the glasses in the apartment. I can see enough through the shield to tell the sun is rising.
I straighten my leg to stretch, and she stirs. I kiss her temple and answer her good morning. She turns over to her other side, pulling my arm with her. I curl my body behind hers. Lay my cheek against her head. I’m grateful again that Doc was able to work small miracles.
My vision is not perfect, but I can see. Objects still have perceptible halos around them. Moving lights at night can be confusing. Depth perception is still a problem, though much better. Distance blurs, but I can see across the apartment now. Doc assures me that my sight will continue to improve, though it probably will never be what it was.
I’m adjusting to the difficulties a little more each day. I can prepare meals, now. I can pick out my own clothes. I can read, and twice have read to Kathryn when she was tired, as she did for me in the shelter. Those moments with her, and the ones like now with my arms around her, my lips pressed to her hair, mean so much more to me than they ever have with anyone else. In the absence of physical intimacy, my heart and soul have formed a deeply intimate connection unrestrained by her rank as it was on Voyager.
I want to share that physical connection with her, too. But I’ve held back. Fear of the headache returning, feeling unworthy of her affections when I’d have had to hold her arm to find the bed, my self-image of being less than a man despite her assurances and words of love – all have played a factor in my not approaching her with more than a kiss or a snuggle as we sit together.
Although things are much improved since the second surgery, I still hold back. I hug her to me and then slide off the bed. I’ll make the coffee. Her sleepy voice murmurs a thank you. I take a last look at her before leaving the room, and have to smile. I like waking up to the smell of sunlight. To wake up to the sight of it is so much sweeter.
I get the coffee pot started, and then pull a chair out from the table and sit down. Close my eyes and rub my face. When I first wake up, it can take a little while for my sight to adjust. Darkness is no longer a place of despair, but a place of rest. I hear her soft footsteps, feel her hands on my shoulders. I’m okay, just waiting for my eyes to wake up. You don’t have to come with me to see Doc this morning. I think I can go alone. No, of course I don’t mind if you come. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.
She does something she’s never done before. She sits in my lap, her arms around my neck. I feel gentle kisses on my eyelids, the silk of her nightgown under my hands wrapped around her hip. The weight of her on my legs makes me feel like more of a man. It’s a gesture of trust, of putting herself in my care. I open my eyes long enough to see her lips. Slide my fingers up the silk to the nape of her neck and pull her into a kiss. I can feel a change in the way we touch, in the connection between us. It thrills me and scares me at the same time. I lean back from her and focus on her face. I love you, Kathryn. Her cheek rests against mine. Brandy whispers of love in my ear. She rises to pour our coffee, and I’m left wanting, fearing. Confused.
I walk to the window and stand looking out over the city. The man I was is out there somewhere. Traveling the stars. Back on Dorvan. Among the ghosts on Voyager. Fighting the Cardassians. Walking the Central American rainforest with my father. Maybe it’s time I stop looking for him. Maybe it’s time I find the man I am now. Not less, only different. I feel in my soul the last precipice of darkness beginning to crumble. I can’t be the Chakotay I was before. Somehow, I need to stop trying to be the man I think she needs, and be the man she wants.
I take the cup she brings me and kiss her on the cheek. Yes, I’m okay. I’m just thinking. Her look says she understands. She squeezes my shoulder and returns to the bedroom to take her shower. The blurred bustle of the city through the window mirrors the battle within my head between who I was and who I am. Advancing, retreating, crossing and sometimes meeting. But has yet to come into focus.
I hear her emerge from the bathroom, and I recall the appointment with Doc. When I pass by her on my way to get ready, she’s in her white robe looking in the closet. I brush my teeth and turn to the shower when I remember I didn’t get my clothes.
I open the door, and Kathryn’s back is to me. She’s in a short slip and I see the band of a bra across her back, but nothing else. Oh, I’m sorry! I turn to the door to give her time to put on her dress. I hear soft footsteps and feel her hands on my arms. She tells me to turn around, to look at her. But she’s not the one I have to face. It’s myself. I let my head drop in the inner battle. Her hands let go of me and she’s gone from the room. That’s when I realize what I’ve done. In my private war, I’ve rejected her. Damn, how can I be so stupid!
I find her leaning on her hands, arms stiffened, against the kitchen counter. Her robe is belted around her. Kathryn, I don’t know what to say. Her words make me see how deeply I’ve hurt her, have been hurting her. Of course I want you, Kathryn. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I put my hands on the base of her neck and feel her stiffen. This has nothing to do with you. It’s me, only me. Gods, woman, you fueled half my dreams across the Delta Quadrant. That man would have given up everything to be with you if you’d asked.
She turns and faces me, the pain of rejection clear on her face. She wants to know about the man standing in front of her. How does he feel? Then she tells me something else I’ve been too stupid to realize. She didn’t go to Dorvan because I was her first officer and friend. She went to Dorvan because she loved me. Not my uniform and title. The man inside that she spent over seven years getting to know. My deep spirit that forced her to open to possibilities of things beyond science. My gentle heart that always chooses understanding and compassion over condemnation. My quiet courage unafraid to stand up to her and make her rethink decisions, to accept when she’s wrong. My mind as curious as hers about the universe and its peoples. He is who she loves.
I see her blue eyes searching mine, and it reminds me of a twentieth-century song Tom listened to on Voyager: When you love a woman, you see your world inside her eyes. The me that I’ve been chasing has been there, in her eyes, all along. It doesn’t matter who I think I can’t be anymore. It only matters who she sees.
Kathryn, I never meant to drag you along with me through this struggle. I was so intent on trying to find me again, that I lost sight of both of us. I thought I knew what you deserved from me, and I couldn’t give it to you. She pulls me to her, and I wrap her in my arms. I tell I love her as I caress her head against my shoulder. Soon, she kisses my cheek and tells me to go get ready. Says she doesn’t want to listen to the Doctor’s diatribe on time management if we’re late for my check-up.
I remember my clothes this time. I take a quick shower, towel off and start to dress. I button my pants and turn to grab my shirt from the shelf. Suddenly, I’m on my hands and knees. Swirling. Can’t focus. Kathryn. Kathryn! I hear the door open, and she’s cradling my head as I fall over. No, no pain. Just dizzy. Almost like before. She folds a towel under my head, tells me to lie still. Her footsteps recede. She contacts Doc and is back at my side in seconds. Soon, I hear Doc’s voice and feel her move away. He scans me and then removes the neural monitor from my head. Congratulations, he says. He tells me I don’t need it anymore. The spinning slows down and I can open my eyes again.
What happened? He tells me my equilibrium is working perfectly. My body compensated faster than the device did. The monitor read it as a problem and attempted to counter-balance. Kathryn puts her arms around me to help me up. A faint dizzy feeling lingers, but it’s tolerable. I make my way to the bed and sit down. Doc runs more scans and suggests I rest. He’s found no problems. I can return to see him next week, and call if I experience any difficulties. When he leaves, I slide up to the pillows and lie on my side with my eyes closed. I feel her weight on the mattress in front of me. I open my arms and she curls into me, the silk robe over her back cool against my chest. Yes, I’m okay now. It’s going away.
After a couple of minutes, she sits up against the headboard. I slide my head over to her thigh and drape my arm over her legs. She caresses my hair and reads poetry to me. Slowly, I open my eyes and look around the room. The spell is over. There’s no trace of the spinning. No pain, no changes in my vision. I sit up and put my arm around her, listening to the last stanza she is reading. And the voice that leaves me craving.
When she puts the PADD on the table, I fold her into a kiss. Deeper, longer, more passionate than I’ve ever kissed her before. I feel the change in her as she grips my arm, opens her lips, and turns her body to me. My hand caresses her side until I feel the silky belt. I break the kiss and lean her back in my arm as I slowly pull the tie loose. Let me see you, Kathryn. I push the open wrap to her sides and clearly see the smooth skin of her stomach, the swell of her breasts cradled in her bra, the curve of her hips. I gaze into her blue eyes turned cobalt in the dim lighting. So beautiful! Gentle fingertips trail over my bare chest as I slip the robe off her shoulders.
I finally find that with the gift of her love, I am so much more than the man I was.